Brendan Brady Ladykiller
by BipolarMolar
Summary: Britzeee. With his father a constant and overbearing force in his life, Brendan turns to Mitzeee to help him lie. Seamus doesn't know that his son isn't really the ladykiller he claims to be, and Mitzeee and Brendan soon find themselves deep in deception. But the real problem begins when Mitzeee realises she can't tell where the lies end and the truth starts.


**Title: Brendan Brady Ladykiller**

**Disclaimer: I have no legal claim on Hollyoaks.**

**Ok, wrote this for Sammy. Sorry, sweetheart I was supposed to do this ages ago but complications arose- no excuse I know. Anyway, Het baffles me but this is my college try- this fic grew legs so it'll be a WIP(Work in progress). This is set when Seamus was new to the village, and Mitzeee didn't know the truth about him.**

Passing a mirror on the way to the door, Mitzeee ran her fingers through her hair, fluffing it up. Winking at her reflection, she pouted, smacking her lips together with a _pop!_ sound. Satisfied, she ran to the door, tottering slightly in her high heels, and opened the door wide.

"Brendan!" Mitzeee laughed incredulously, reaching forward to lightly stroke Brendan's arm. She didn't dare hug him right now for fear of mussing her hair!

"Can I come in?" Brendan muttered, eyes downcast. "Or…were you expecting someone?"

"My sister said she'd pop 'round later," Mitzeee said airily, standing back to let Brendan pass. "I thought you were her just now, that's all."

"I'll take that as a compliment- the Minniver sisters are pretty girls," Brendan remarked dryly, taking a seat at the sofa without being asked. He sniffed. "Been cleaning?"

Mitzeee hurriedly moved some magazines on the coffee table in to an ordered stack. "Yes, actually! Had a bit of a dust, just tryna, y'know, clear out the old rubbish- new year, new me."

Brendan might have said "I know what you mean," at that point, but if so, it was spoken so softly, Mitzee wasn't sure if she'd imagined it or not.

"Tea?" she offered, already walking to the kitchen.

"Or something stronger, if you got it," Brendan called back.

Regarding the possible beverages to offer, Mitzeee frowned, leaning down to inspect the fridge better. Spotting a lone bottle of beer near the back, she seized it, bringing it up to the light to scan it. Looking at a vaguely familiar brand, her heart skipped a beat. Riley…that had been Riley's favourite beer…

"Mitzeee! Are you ok in there?"

"I'm coming, I'm fine!" she yelled, grabbing the bottle and a carton of juice.

Brendan was sat right where she'd left him and for some reason, that struck her as odd. Normally, Brendan would walk around a room, examining things with those keen eyes of his, filling the room with his presence, simply by being there. Now, Brendan just sat tensely on the sofa, his hands laced together and hanging between his knees, as he stared down at the floor. When she tapped his elbow playfully with the bottle, he didn't even notice at first, only taking it with a muttered "Thanks" and holding it loosely between his fingers.

Mitzeee sighed and perched on a chair opposite him. She waited for him to speak, but as the silence wore on, it became clear she'd have to broach the subject.

"Brendan, did you want something specifically?" She asked him, not unkindly. "Only…you're not the type for…casual social calls…"

At last, that drew a response from her brooding companion. Brendan barked out a surprised laugh and glanced down at his bottle, as if seeing it for the first time. Mitzeee passed over a bottle opener and watched as the Irishman freed the alcohol, taking a deep swig. It only just occurred to her how…unwell…Brendan looked. With his head bowed, staring down at the floor as if it had done him a disservice, Brendan hadn't looked so bad, but now looking into dark, tired eyes with heavy purple bags underneath, and a face pinched tight and pale, Mitzeee felt concern well up in her for her friend.

She couldn't help but pat his arm reassuringly, give him a smile and hope she'd get one in return. It wasn't the signs of physical exhaustion on Brendan's face that was the biggest change though. It was how dull he seemed. So bleak and empty. Brendan was only occupying a small section of the sofa, and his body language was speaking volumes, the way he was huddled up with his jacket pulled tight around him, shying away from the harsh light of the fixture above their heads and even away from Mitzeee's own touch. He seemed small, diminished, lacking that Brendan Brady charm and attitude that made him who he was. She knew that look all too well. She'd felt that way after Riley had- died.

"Brendan…is there anything-"

"You're right, Mitzeee…Anne…whatever you call yourself these days," Brendan tossed back another mouthful of beer, clearing his throat with a rough, growly sound. "How do you change your name and still…keep…yourself?"

She laughed, awkwardly, not quite sure what Brendan meant. Inwardly, she hated the saccharine laugh she was giving him, that was the laugh for reporters and journalists, Brendan Brady, an honest man, deserved better. "It gets easier, you know? People call out Mitzeee and I turn round. I suppose…Anne is one person and Mitzeee is another."

"But how do you cut yourself off from that?" He coughed. "What you were?"

Why? Thinking of changing your name yourself?" She gave a teasing smile to let him know she was joking, but Brendan tapped the lip of his bottle with a finger, staring darkly down at the drink.

"I don't know. Maybe."

"Don't you dare! You _are_ Brendan Brady! What would your dad say if he knew you were turning your back on the family name?"

At that moment, Brendan looked up and his eyes met hers. Their eyes connected and for just a second, Brendan's guard dropped and Mitzeee was allowed a glimpse of what he was feeling. He looked _pained._

"Bren-"

"That's the thing, Mitzeee; you hit the nail on the head. That's why I'm here. My da."

"Oh, Seamus…right. It's, um, it's good he's here, to- to see you both. You and Cheryl."

"You don't have to walk on eggshells around me, Mitzeee, it's no secret me and my da don't get on. Most people know that but most people don't know the reason _why._"

Brendan nodded at her, from across the coffee table. Mitzeee blinked.

"Why, what's the reas-"

"Another time, another-" Brendan glanced down at his almost-empty bottle and grinned. "-drink. Basically, I need a favour. I don't usually ask people for favours, don't really appreciate having to pay 'em back. Feel honoured."

"What's the favour?" She could guess it was something to do with Seamus Brady, but it could be anything. "What do you need me to do? Haven't had the pleasure to meet him yet but, ha, if he's anything like _you-_"

"He's not," Brendan said firmly, setting the bottle onto the table with more force than intended. He ignored Mitzeee's reproachful look. "And it's not. A pleasure, that is. Look, here's the thing-" He leant forward, hands splayed flat, palm-down, on the table. All business.

"Seamus doesn't know I'm- I'm gay. And he wouldn't be too happy if he found out."

"Would he-" She swallowed, grabbing hold of the edge of the table. "Would he go nuts?"

"He'd get more worked up than a McQueen at a clearance sale. I can't be dealing with this. I _refuse _to."

"Ok, _ok,_ I'll help. But I think your dad's being unfair. _And_ a homophobe. Mind you, he i_s_ Catholic-"

"Oi! You can't say that when he's around, he'll get offended. Just- don't say much of anything, just smile and nod and look like an airhead."

"Oi _yourself,_ Mr. Brady! Who's offending who now?" She was starting to relax, easing into this banter with Brendan, God, she'd missed these conversations. And while hotly deflecting Mitzeee's mocking, some much-needed colour had flooded into Brendan's cheeks, he looked all the better for it.

"I was only thinking it may be easier for you to avoid his suspicion if he thinks you're too stupid to question. Anyway, thanks for saying you'll do it, I owe you one. I'll help you put a bag together." Brendan stood up, brushing down his trousers.

"Er, _excuse_ me? A bag?"

Brendan frowned at her, looking utterly puzzled, which made no sense because Mitzeee reckoned if anybody had a right to be confused right now, it was _her._

"A _bag,_ Mitzeee. For your _clothes._ For when you _stay_ with me, right?"

"Stay with you, I can't stay with you! Brendan- I have a flat! Let me remind you- you're currently _in _it!"

"I'll tell you what I'm currently in," Brendan whispered, moving closer so Mitzeee had to crane her neck to meet his eyes. Obviously, her high heels weren't high enough. "Trouble, that's what I'm in. And it's about to get a whole lot worse for me if my da thinks I'm a liar as well as a disappointment."

"Oh, Brendan. You're _not_ a disappointment-"

"Yeah, well, _he_ doesn't seem to think so. And he's not as open-minded as Miss Mitzeee Three E's is, so to all intents and purposes, I'm Brendan Brady- Ladies Man."

Despite Brendan's serious expression, Mitzeee giggled. "If you say so."

"I do. And I'll cover your rent, so long as you hurry up and get a move on. GO!"

Mitzeee ran.


End file.
